Disclaimer: Welcome to my newest fic, "The Call Of Steel." It's very Angst filled and there is some mention of people cutting themselves and child abuse. In other words, it's not the sort of story you read if you want a laugh. The title of the story was taken from the poem "The Call of Steel" by Mlaa, who writes on Fanfiction.net. If you look under my fav stories link you will be able to see the whole set of poems this is taken from. The bits of poetry in this story are from "The Call Of Steel."
Thanks to my beta, "HopefulNebula" as always, and to "Mlaa" for being kind enough to let me
borrow her poem.

The Call Of Steel.

Part 1:- Bitter Tears

~ ...listless...
the call of steel.
of flesh to steel.

"The Call of Steel" by Mlaa ~

~ 20 Years Before Enterprise ~

"A B-! You call that a decent grade, boy?" roared the man, bending over his terrified son. "You're 11 years old, it's time you started to get proper grades! You'll never be a scientist at this rate!"

"B-but father... I don't want to be a scientist." the young boy said softly, clearly afraid of the monster in front of him.

"Don't you dare talk back to me!" his father screamed. He slipped off his belt and held it in his left hand. "Look what you've made me do. Now I have to punish you." The boys eye's widened as he backed away.

"Pl-please, don't." he begged, his gaze fixed on the belt.

"Now Son, don't beg, you know how much I hate begging, don't you," the man said, his words
slurring together. "I'll have to punish you a bit more for that." he finished and with one movement raised the belt above his head and brought it down on his sons back. The boy bit back the scream that tried to escape, knowing that a scream would only cause more punishment.

For 10 minutes the drunk man rained hits on his child, screaming as he did so. Then he simply
stopped, took his belt and left. It was only after the man had left that the boy pushed his face into his pillow and let bitter tears rain down on it.

It was the middle of the night when he first heard it. With a gasp he sat up and flicked on his light. There stood his father looking down at his son in disgust.

"I heard you crying boy." he said slowly. "You're a Tucker and Tuckers don't cry." with that the beating began again, with Charles Tucker III trieing to shield his face from most of the blows...

~ 20 Years Later ~

"See you tomorrow, Commander," Malcolm Reed said.

"See ya tomorrow Malcolm and I like I said before, call me Trip." Trip replied, a smile on his face.

"If you don't mind my asking... why are you called Trip? Why not Charles?" Malcolm asked. Trip froze at this innocent question. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I dunno, just like Trip better. Well, I better be off." he said quickly, and the next second, he was gone. Malcolm raised his eyebrow in confusion then walked off, towards his quarters. Inside his room Trip gave a small sigh of relief. For a second there he had almost blown it. He slowly moved over to the mirror and peered in it. With a snort he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a knife. He slowly placed the blade on his arm and pulled. The warm blood began to surface, bubbling as it did so. The rich, tangy iron scent filled Trip's nostrils as he gazed at the cut. His face was empty of all expression as he cut his arm again and again. It was only after he placed the knife back into the drawer that it came from that he took a proper look at what he had done. Carved into his arm was the word "Dad". He pushed his sleeve back down onto his arm and moved towards his bed, unaware of the news that was heading his way. A piece of news that would change Trip, change the way everyone thought of him and change his life... forever.